Page 276 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

In my old life, when I got into this mood, I’d head to a club with Cillian and we’d spend the night getting drunk and fucked up.

That is not what I crave anymore.

I realize with a start that it’s been several weeks since I’ve last touched alcohol. And perhaps that’s why I’ve been feeling things in such a raw, unadulterated way.

Clarity is something I need now, but it isn’t necessarily the most comfortable feeling to be faced with.

I’m standing by the window, contemplating a midnight run, when my ears catch a sharp sound.

I still, my eyes turning alert as I scan the darkened horizon.

The sound didn’t sound natural at all. In fact, it sounded suspiciously like a signal off one of the perimeter traps I’d set earlier this evening.

Which meant a very large animal had ventured closer to the cabin that it had ever done before, or else…

We have someone unwelcome visitors.

I snap the window shut and draw the blinds down.

I’m making my way to the door when Esme sits up suddenly.

“Artem?” she says, her voice panicked already. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I reply, but I don’t sound convincing. “I just… I heard something and I need to go check it out.”

She frowns. “Why do you look so… tense?”

“I think one of my perimeter traps got tripped,” I admit.

“Someone else is here?” she asks.

“That’s what I’m going to find out.”

“Artem…”

I move to the side of the bed and grab her hand.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her, trying to infuse my voice with confidence. “It’s probably nothing. I bet it’s just that stag that got the better of me, remember? Back for revenge.”

I expect her to laugh. Instead, she frowns, a different kind of frown than I’ve ever seen from her before.

“Take Cillian with you,” she begs.

“I don’t need to,” I say calmly. “I’ll be back soon. Stay in bed.”

“But—”

“Esme!” I bark.

She quiets at once. Her lip trembles.

“Stay in bed,” I order.

“I’ll be back soon.”

I close the door on her. When I turn around, Cillian shoots off the sofa, obviously still wide awake.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, taking in my tense stance.

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